1951 - The Beginning
by moutonx
Summary: "Chocolate met ice and she knew that was the end. That was the moment she realised she could no longer remain invisible. That was the moment she knew her mission to destroy Lord Voldemort was over. Tom Marvolo Riddle had his sights set firmly on his new interest, Hermione Jean Granger. It was over before it had even begun."
1. It was over before it had even begun

"It was over before it had even begun" 

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His ice blue eyes followed her around the room as she made her way to the terrified house-elf, the only being in the room she could relate to it would seem. The dancing couples only serving as a barrier from his discomforting gaze for a few seconds at a time. She knew she had to ignore him, she couldn't attract too much attention, but she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to keep up her calm facade. There was only so much she could take, despite being the smartest witch of her age.

He was handsome, she would give him that, but she knew what he was like on the inside. He was a monster, in every sense of the word. Perhaps she had been too naive, trusted too easily. It was all for the greater good they said, and she accepted it all with her pride inflating at the mere thought that they had specifically chosen her for this daunting and difficult task. She was the chosen one now that her best friend, her brother, one of her only true supporters, had passed away at the hands of the snake-faced devil.

She was new to this scene, not truly knowing how to act in such an environment. She always believed the pureblood parties would have an element of fun to them, despite what they were meant to represent, despite who they were trying to ostracise from the wizarding world. Her thoughts were obviously a delusional fantasy.

Whichever way she turned male and females were separated, there was no intermingling. The richest spoke with the richest and the poorest attempting to boast of their assets to the poorest, looking longingly at the groups of the conversing super wealthy. It was sad and pathetic, but she supposed these were the times she lived in now. Money made money after all and unfortunately, knowledge and money was power, power in turn got you places. Social standing was everything to this group of people, something she would never be able to comprehend. As far as she was concerned, her friends and family were all she needed, money was just a bonus. Love, compassion and kindness was power, everything else was meaningless.

Finally, after keeping the disgust she felt for the people surrounding her off her face, she found herself in front of the house elf carrying the expensive champagne flutes. Odd that these pureblood maniacs would drink a muggle drink to refresh themselves. Ignorance was bliss she supposed.

A small smirk graced her lips at the thought but it was quickly wiped away as she heard a crash and scream coming from her right. Twisting her neck around to see what all the commotion was about, she stood there in horror. She had never grown out of her S.P.E.W. days, constantly searching for ways to protect the magical creatures who needed a voice to defend them and deserved equality. She hadn't changed at all, not even when she went back to the year 1951, and definitely not in this very situation. She didn't care if her views were opposed and she was outnumbered, she had to stand up for what she believed in.

The short, rat like man loomed over the tiny house elf, screaming obscenities at the innocent magical being. His elongated buck teeth making the words difficult to understand as he spat them out. Realising his words were getting him no enamoured glances but scathing looks instead from the beautiful ladies watching on, he quickly whipped out his wand and trained it on the defenceless elf standing before him in dirty rags.

"Cruc...", before he could finish casting his spell, he was knocked off his feet and landed on his bum 5 feet away from the elf.

"Perhaps you should pick on someone your own size, Pettigrew", her voice was mocking, her shining eyes matching her tone. She wasn't expecting to pull out her wand but she couldn't stop herself. She wasn't about to let a rat use the torture curse on one of the most caring creatures the wizarding world had to offer.

His black, beady eyes narrowed as he sized her up, determining whether or not he could defeat her in a duel. He obviously reached the wrong conclusion after his poor assessment, standing up and this time, training his wand on her. "Perhaps you shouldn't meddle in business that isn't your own, Miss Burke".

She couldn't help but smile a genuine smile. The name she had hijacked was a prominent one in the wizarding world, and the real Burke family were actually dead, giving her the perfect back story that everyone had fallen for hook, line and sinker. There was no chance someone would come forward and expose her as an impostor. She had convinced them all with ease that the ever quiet Burke family had finally decided to come out of the shadows and contribute openly to their society. Ever since she attended Hogwarts and met her two best friends, she couldn't help but get involved in business that had nothing to do with her. It had become second nature to her now, she couldn't resist. She saw the partygoers separate in anticipation of a duel, her body relaxing slightly too in preparation.

Unfortunately she had plenty of experience and she found she was an extremely gifted witch. She thrived on learning, she thrived in high pressure situations, she had become dependent on it. Many times, too many, it had been a life or death situation. There was no alternative but to learn and continue improving. That, or she'd find herself six feet under, with no-one left to mourn and grieve for her.

He was arrogant, casting a simple 'accio' expecting to take her wand from her just like that. She was faster and had plenty of experience, he should have known it wouldn't have been that easy straight after she sent him flying across the room.

"Is that all you've got?" she said, allowing laughter to seep into her words. Angering him would cause him to make mistakes. It would overshadow any logical thoughts, he would only see red, which would ultimately be his downfall. Not that he had a chance against her anyway. As far as she was concerned, the only real threat in the room was the man who sat on the sidelines, watching with intrigue.

He was a slow caster, his dark spells leaving his wand at a snail's pace, growing weaker as each one left the tip of his plain brown wand. Sidestepping his attempts to disarm and cause damage at a leisurely pace was easy, barely requiring any energy at all. To be honest, she had expected more from him, his future grandson was far better when faced with danger. Although, Peter had probably learned all of what he knew and used to survive from the "friends" he betrayed, Moony, Padfoot and Prongs. At least Peter Pettigrew had the brains to run away when he realised it was losing battle.

After a few minutes of allowing him to think he was making progress in their duel, she grew tired of the pretence. She was never one to stand there doing nothing. Everyone but William Pettigrew saw the shift in her demeanour, everyone knew things were going to take a turn for the worst for the rodent.

She cast several spells in quick succession, none of them considered dark. A rope tightly wound its way around his ankles and his wrists, making him hop around trying to regain his balance with as much dignity as he could muster. His fat cheeks were turning an embarrassing shade of red, comparing him to a tomato was much too kind at this point. His squinted eyes were suddenly blindfolded by her next spell, his breath coming out in ragged puffs, his fear overpowering his every thought now.

It was satisfying to watch she had to admit. She had never considered herself a sadist, and she didn't think she actually was, but there was something so good about seeing the people you detest suffer. The pureblood socialites were laughing at him she realised, the humiliation rolling off him in waves. Deciding she should put him out of his misery sooner rather than later, she had one more thing left to do. Strolling up to him, her long red dress trailing along the wooden floors, her gold high heels clicking as she took each step and her brunette hair crackling with power, she whispered in his ear as she reached him.

"Perhaps next time Pettigrew, it would be wise to follow my advice" pulling away from him, she released him from her spells, watching him fall to the floor in a heap. He scrambled up from the floor, casting a quick look to someone behind her, his face freezing in fear before he turned and ran from the room, faster than she thought possible for the obese man.

She watched him leave, the heavy oak doors slamming behind him as he made his dramatic exit. Stowing her wand back in the sleeve of her dress, she too turned, searching for another house elf with a champagne flute. God knew she needed more after that spectacle, no doubt she'd have to suffer through many conversations regarding it for the rest of the night, defending her views on house elf rights.

However, before she could look much further, chocolate met ice and she knew that was the end. That was the moment she realised she could no longer remain invisible. That was the moment she knew her mission to destroy Lord Voldemort was over. Tom Marvolo Riddle had his sights set firmly on his new interest, Hermione Jean Granger. It was over before it had even begun. 

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**Thanks so much for reading!  
Let me know what you think :) **


	2. The Know-It-All wasn't a Know-It-All

**Previously...**

 _However, before she could look much further, chocolate met ice and she knew that was the end. That was the moment she realised she could no longer remain invisible. That was the moment she knew her mission to destroy Lord Voldemort was over. Tom Marvolo Riddle had his sights set firmly on his new interest, Hermione Jean Granger. It was over before it had even begun._

* * *

"Maybe the Know-It-All wasn't a Know-It-All after all"

How could she have been so stupid? She should have known one wrong move would have ruined her chances instantly. Women in the 1950's did not attack men who were considered their superiors. Especially _pureblood_ women.

She couldn't prevent the fear and anxiety she felt from his burrowing stare from flooding her eyes. She had failed every single person she had sworn to save and protect from the creature sitting on his throne like chair. Of course his followers would have him sit on a pedestal, even when the majority of people at this event did not truly know who Lord Voldemort was, let alone that he existed just yet. From what she had learnt about his timeline, he was supposed to be travelling around the world, seeking darker and darker artefacts to aid him in this goal to be the greatest, and obviously darkest, wizard of all time.

And thanks to her stubbornness, she had given him a free pass to do just that. If she had just allowed that house elf to be tortured, no matter how much it would have pained her, she would have been able to get close to his followers and him in turn, make him think that she too believed that some creatures were expendable and purebloods were the superior race. She could just imagine Snape's derisive remarks now, "I suppose the Know-It-All isn't a Know-It-All after all".

Ron would look at her like she'd grown three heads, "Hermione, I know you're in love with SPAWE, or whatever it's called, and all that but did you really think the Dark Lord wouldn't notice you when you're not ready after that?! You've bloody buggered it all now haven't you?"

"'Mione, it's okay, you can get through this. You've got brains, just think of something and fast", Harry would of course be the supportive one, knowing full well that all hope was lost now.

"Miss Granger, what were you _thinking_?" Her Head of House, Minerva, would be looking at her with disappointment shining bright in her eyes. Never actually saying how she felt about her most promising student but allowing it to translate through her ever expressive orbs.

And Dumbledore, well, he'd just peer at her over his half moon spectacles with a knowing look in his twinkling eyes. A knowing look that she would not understand until he finally decided to put her out of her misery and explain it to her. But by that point she would have already figured half of it out, with the rest to fit themselves in the puzzle. But he wasn't here to explain anything, she didn't have anyone to berate her for her poor choices or to hold her back from doing something she might later regret. She didn't have a support system here in 1951, she was alone.

So for her, she was left with two choices, fight or flight. The Gryffindor inside of her was roaring, raging for a fight, to draw her wand and hit the murderous, evil orphan with an unforgiveable. However, she had to disappoint her inner lioness. Her mind was shutting down, all the different scenarios, the consequences of her actions, her imagination was taking over, moulding all into one jumbled mess. She did the only thing that was left for her to do. She ran.

On more than one occasion she almost tripped over her long ruby red gown, grabbing a fistful of the silk fabric in each hand, she held it up as she escaped the admittedly gorgeous big ballroom, which felt like it was closing in and suffocating her the longer she stayed in there.

With more force than she though she would ever muster, she slammed her shoulders into the witches and wizards who didn't step aside in time in her hurry to reach the large oak doors. When she finally reached her exit, she pushed them open with more power than necessary, her palms turning a shade of red.

She continued to run down the dark hallway leading to the front doors. She was panicking, her breaths coming in uneven gasps, her chest growing tighter with each movement her body made, but she had to get out of there, no matter what.

Everywhere she looked, she was drowning in memories. She thought she'd be able to manage an hour or two at Malfoy Manor. She had assumed it would have changed over time, but it hadn't, everything had remained the same. The only difference was the portraits, there weren't as many and they were placed in different areas. She remembered being dragged in here by the snatchers, their bruising grasps much too tight, the excitement rolling off them in waves in anticipation of the reward they would have surely received for delivering the Boy Who Lived, his blood traitor friend and the magic stealing Mudblood.

She didn't know when she stopped moving, she didn't know when she had hunched over in the doorway of the parlour, her eyes unmoving from the spot where Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her and carved the derogatory word into her arm. She didn't register when a figure allowed her to use them as a support, winding their strong and muscular arm around her waist. She didn't realise when she had leaned into them, their body was radiating more power than she had ever felt.

A deep baritone voice reached out to her, whispering in her ear, telling her to breathe, demanding she follow the instructions. Her foggy mind listened to the only voice of reason, the only one that was confident and demanding. "Breathe in through your nose, that's it, and out through your mouth. Good girl. Again, in through your nose, out through your mouth".

It was helping, her breathing was getting back on track, her ragged breaths were become smoother, it didn't hurt to breathe anymore. She closed her eyes to help her focus, she couldn't think about her past, she had a new future to cultivate and constantly remembering the negative aspects would only hinder her from moving forward.

She was being moved she realised, her feet moving on their own accord, keeping in step with the body attached to the baritone voice that helped her. The voice was full of authority, commanding others to continue enjoying themselves in the ballroom, while they attended to her.

Her eyes opened slowly, they were closed so tightly it was difficult to suddenly adjust to the change in light. She found herself in a completely different room, it was full of colour, a scene she had never expected to see in the Malfoy Manor. As if a switch was suddenly turned on in her brain, she stood upright and tense. She remembered where she was and who had attended the party. Casting a quick look out of the corner of her eyes, her worst dreams were realised.

She thought her only mistake would be cursing that rat, Pettigrew. But no, here she stood, in an area of the mansion she knew nothing about, or what directions she had taken to get there, with the arm of Lord Voldemort still wrapped around her.

Maybe Snape was right, maybe the Know-It-All wasn't a Know-It-All after all.

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 **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I love hearing your thoughts. It's great to see you're as invested in the story as I am. I'm excited and hoping to meet your expectations :)**

 **Please continue to let me know what you think, it definitely fuels my inspiration.**

 **I'll try and update this story as often as I can but I'll find it quite difficult. Shift work, two naughty dogs and a boyfriend are very time consuming haha!**

 **Thank you so much again! :D**


	3. Dead woman walking

**Hey guys,**

 **Firstly, thank you so much for your reviews, loving them!**

 **Just before you delve into the next chapter, I wanted to clear up some confusion:**

 _ **Guest:** I do have 1 point of critique; Peter Pettigrew as in the "friend" of James, Sirius and Remus wasn't born yet in 1951 or he was a baby, but not a grown_ _man._

 **The Pettigrew in my story is William, not Peter. William is actually Peter's father and although I did mention Peter in Chapter One, it was only to compare his skills to his father's.**

 **At least I _think_ it would be his father in the timeline. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me and I'll amend the story a bit for future chapters if need be :)**

 **Time really is a complicated matter haha!**

 **I know** **SilverySky8 already cleared it up, so a huge thank you for that** **:)**

* * *

 **Previously...**

 _She thought her only mistake would be cursing that rat, Pettigrew. But no, here she stood, in an area of the mansion she knew nothing about, or what directions she had taken to get there, with the arm of Lord Voldemort still wrapped around her._

 _Maybe Snape was right, maybe the Know-It-All wasn't a Know-It-All after all._

* * *

"Dead woman walking"

A smirk graced his face and she got the intense feeling he knew she was uncomfortable around him. She supposed it was quite obvious, she was ridiculously tense, every blink she made was carefully considered before she performed the action.

He slowly removed his arm from supporting her, his fingertips grazing her back with a feather tip touch. She was growing angry, he was doing it on purpose, knowing full well what her reaction would be. Besides, she knew as well as he did that, that touch was not considered very gentlemanly in the 1950's if both parties were unmarried. Usually she was in control of her emotions, normally she would be able to conceal the truth from her features, but he was making it more difficult. Maybe it was just his presence. After all, he was in the room when she had duelled with Pettigrew, and he was looking on as she had a mini panic attack just moments ago, and now he was here, with that stupidly smug look on his face. He put her on edge and she hated him for making her lose her cool. This was not the Hermione Granger, or the Hermione Burke, she knew. She needed to get her act together.

"Would you like something to calm your nerves Miss Burke?" his suave voice distracted her from her growing murderous thoughts. His ice blue eyes not letting go of her chocolate coloured ones.

Could he be trusted to give her a drink, which she desperately needed at this point, and not spike it with some sort of truth serum? Could she be trusted to not let a glass of firewhisky go to her head?

She was immediately pulled out of her thoughts again by a sharp prodding in her mind. He was trying to use _legilimency_ on her. How _dare_ he?! Her eyes narrowed into slits, the fury and outrage fuelling her glare. Thankfully she and Harry had practiced occlumency since their fifth year, just when Harry had begun his private lessons with Snape. They had both become rather proficient at it, Hermione finding it easy to surpass Harry's skills in the area. Ron had found it difficult, only reaching an amateur level. He wouldn't have had a chance against someone as experienced as Voldemort.

Hermione pushed him out of her mind with ease, maybe even with a bit more strength than necessary. But she didn't want him anywhere near her thoughts, she didn't want him to taint her precious memories like he had done with the beauty that was the wizarding world.

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He was the master of manipulation and he was certainly a master at hiding his thoughts and emotions. There wasn't even a flicker of feeling in his cold eyes, no twitch beside his thin lips, nothing. He was a blank canvas.

She realised how important it was that she got close to him and earned his trust, figure out what ticked him off. No-one could be that perfect at their facade all the time, he had to have tells and she was determined to find out what they were. Once Hermione Granger had her mind set on something, there was no alternative but to achieve it. She didn't give up that easily, no matter how many negative thoughts planted themselves firmly into her mind.

One of his dark eyebrows, which she initially thought was black, until she got a closer look and noticed it was actually a very dark brown, rose to form an arch. His icy blue eyes, which were splattered with tiny flecks of gold, laughed at her. Her own honey brown eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was he laughing at her? She hadn't done anything to warrant his amusement.

His aristocratic nose led straight down to his thin and even lips, which were upturned slightly to the side. He was smirking _again_. He was attractive, devilishly so, and as she took her time reviewing every minuscule detail on his face, she could understand why so many fell for him, why all the women fawned over him and all the men doted on his every whim. She couldn't blame them.

Those who didn't know who he was or what he was capable of saw an attractive and successful young man, soon to reach his prime. He was going places and he was going to be someone, and he would, in their minds, hopefully be settling down soon. Seeking a wife to share a home with and raise a family. It was all the socialites could ever hope for, a rich, successful husband and sons to continue building the family name.

Those who knew what he was truly like behind the sympathetic and caring mask he often wore, were too scared to run away. He'd find them and torture them, they knew. they had his dark mark. The only way they could escape his grasp was death, and that was a step they were unprepared to take. They had families, businesses that needed to grow and a name they needed to make prominent in society. It was one thing to die a coward but another to die as a failure.

"Well, Miss Burke? As much as I appreciate the longing stares and as much as I would love to gaze upon your beauty, I'm afraid I don't have all the time in the world." Her cheeks heated up in humiliation as she remembered he was waiting for an answer to his question. He had asked if she needed a drink to calm her nerves and she had answered by goggling at him. _Wonderful_ , she had successfully made herself out to be another of those witless, unintelligent women with nothing but sex on the brain.

"Fire.. Firewhisky please", she stuttered. This whole day was turning out to be a disaster. He gave a sharp nod, the amusement never leaving him as he turned to prepare the drink she had asked for by the bar in the corner of the room. She kept her eyes on him, she couldn't afford to zone out again, she had to remember just who she was sharing the room with. This moment was crucial, she had to make sure he didn't put anything in her drink or take her dazed state as an opportunity to attack her. She had raised too much suspicion, gaining the unwanted interest of the Dark Lord was never a good sign.

"Ice, Miss Burke?"

"No, thank you Mr Riddle." She moved over to the bar to take hold of the full glass he offered her in his outstretched hand. "Thank you", she said as she took it from him. His fingers gently brushed over hers, goosebumps rose on her flesh. She was confused, why did he insist on touching her? Was he winding her up on purpose, trying to get reactions from her? She needed a clear head and time to think everything through properly. She needed to process her reactions as well as his and she definitely couldn't do that while he was standing in front of her with that infuriating smirk _still_ plastered on his stupid face. She downed her drink without a second thought.

"Better?" he asked, his right eyebrow rising on his face again as he watched on.

"Much. Well, I'd best be off now," she hurriedly placed the glass in front of him, avoiding all physical contact she possibly could. "You can probably tell it's been quite the night for me and I'm in need of some rest and relaxation. Thank you for looking after me Mr Riddle, I appreciate it". She meant it, she realised. She needed that comfort and the protection that he offered from the eyes eager to take in all the information. They would have been staring so they could add some exciting features into the gossip that would surely begin the circuit regarding her breakdown.

"Miss Burke, you've just drowned your liver in very strong Firewhiskey. If you believe for even a second I'm going to allow you to leave in such a hurry while under the influence, you are very much mistaken. How do you propose on getting home, may I ask?"

"The way I came Mr Riddle, apparation," she was insulted and she was sure it came across in her tone. Did he honestly think she was incapable of getting home on her own, like the rest of the ditzy women strutting around in the ballroom? She wasn't about to let him think she was an unintelligent, inbred woman with the mentality of a 13 year old school girl. He may be the Dark bloody Lord, but she was Hermione Granger, and he best not forget it! "I am not some harpy that would remain, unaccompanied, with a wizard who is unmarried and clearly has no intention of marrying me! And I am most certainly able to handle my drink, I'll have you know. I would make a wager that I could beat you at a competition Mr Riddle, however I strongly believe you'd be too cowardly to engage in any sort of competition with myself. Additionally, I am a powerful witch who does not need to rely on the capabilities of a wizard to escort her home, no matter who said wizard is, or even if I was to be greeted by a raging herd of centaurs and dragons at my front door. Yes, I had an unfortunate moment a short while ago but I think you'll find I came back from it rather well."

As she was scolding him for his assumptions that he could tell _her_ what to do and his sexist ideologies, she had backed up, finding her way to the doors to the room. Turning the handle behind her back, so she could face him the entire time, she opened the door slightly, just enough so she could fit through the space.

"Also, I was not staring longingly at your face, it's much too hideous for my tastes." She quickly slammed the door shut, not catching his face flickering between a look of shock and anger, and stomped her way to the end of the long hallway, finding the front door directly to her right, with light streaming in. As she continued to stamp her feet to the front door, her brain caught up with her and nervous giggles escaped her mouth.

She had told off Tom Riddle like he was a child, the man who had destroyed her world. The man who was capable of destruction, and she had admonished him. Her legs carried her just beyond the anti-apparition lines and just before she apparated, she remembered she had insulted the Dark Lord by calling him both a coward and hideous.

She was a dead woman walking.

* * *

 **Hey guys :)**

 **Thanks again for taking the time to read this chapter. Very much appreciate it.  
** **I'm constantly changing the story line and my brain is very much muddled like Hermione's, trying to figure out where the story should go and what to add next.**

 **Your opinions and directions for 1951 - The Beginning, are always welcome and accepted with open arms.**  
 **I'm so looking forward to writing the next chapter and adding another layer to the story.**

 **I'll update again soon! Hopefully I'll see you all then :) x**


	4. Not to touch that which does not belong

**Previously...**

 _She had told off Tom Riddle like he was a child, the man who had destroyed her world. The man who was capable of destruction, and she had admonished him. Her legs carried her just beyond the anti-apparition lines and just before she apparated, she remembered she had insulted the Dark Lord by calling him both a coward and hideous._

 _She was a dead woman walking._

* * *

"Everyone knows not to touch that which does not belong to them"

Three weeks had passed since she had insulted Riddle's bravery and physical appearance and for three weeks, her movements had been followed by his lackeys. He was tracking her, keeping an eye on her actions, where she went and who she spoke to. They would never say anything to her, or openly stare but she knew they were following her. It was times like these where she was ever grateful for Moody's lectures on constant vigilance.

It was always the same three tracing her footsteps, Abraxas Malfoy, Joseph Avery and Edward Lestrange. The latter always made her feel the most uncomfortable and always managed to put her on edge the most.

She had gained so much experience evading detection after her time on the run with Harry and Ron, that she managed to escape their notice several times with ease. She knew they were always punished for losing her because the next day they'd be limping, painful moans would escape their lips at the slightest movements or they'd find they couldn't hold much weight using their arms. She especially enjoyed running away from the watchful eyes of Edward Lestrange. She did feel guilty at times, but she couldn't torture Bellatrix, so she went for the next best thing.

She was in a rush today though and didn't have enough time to spare to plan how to escape their notice on this beautiful sunny summer day. Hermione had already accepted the fact that they would be reporting her actions to Tom.

The warm breeze moved her perfect curls into her face, temporarily blocking her vision. She huffed as she none too gently, removed the offending piece of honey brown hair from her face. Her hair had become more manageable over time but it still had its moments, and despite the fact that the hair products of the 1950's tended to be able to tame her frizzy curls more than the ones in her own time, her hair still had a mind of its own. Stubborn like her, it definitely suited her personality.

She was a woman on a mission, she had to get to Flourish and Blott's as soon as possible. Although it was only 9AM on a Saturday morning in June, they had a new range of books coming in today. She couldn't risk anyone taking the books she needed before she even had a chance to glance over their contents.

Hermione was intent on learning as much about the Dark Arts as possible. Not because she wanted to or because she was swayed by the magic, but because she had to. She needed to earn the Knights of Walpurgis trust, as they were called at this time. Without knowing a thing or two about the Dark Arts, she didn't stand a chance.

The Burke's were all dead, and had been for a short time. No-one in the wizarding world, not even those who prided themselves on knowing everything about everyone and everything, knew where the Burke's stood in regards to blood purity. She had a blank piece of paper to write her history on, and she was not about to make any more mistakes.

It had taken her a few days to process everything that had happened. Attending the party had been a mistake to begin with, she wasn't prepared enough. She thought she was strong enough to step into Malfoy Manor without any consequences but she should have trusted her gut instincts, which had been screaming at her to rethink her decision. She didn't know enough about Voldemort or his followers, she had to ease her way in, she couldn't expect to be welcomed with open arms into his merry little group. She had a part to play, like _he_ did every day.

He had offered her comfort. She could only assume he supported her and gave her the much needed privacy from all those piercing eyes because he wanted something in return. He couldn't possibly know anything yet, she had only just arrived in 1951. He must want knowledge, to know which side she stood on, whether she would be an addition to his group of mindless supporters. He needed to know if she had any connections that would help him progress on his goal to world domination. He needed to know if she was powerful. Yes, the Knights of Walpurgis were all very talented, but he was constantly looking for new material, more talent.

She had insulted him, and with hindsight, he should have killed her for her insolence. He was used to nothing but unadulterated respect. No-one had ever dared to speak to him in the way she had and she was surprised that she hadn't been attacked yet. Maybe he was biding his time, making her feel safe, only to isolate her when she least expected it and then he'd torture and murder her. The last thing she'd see would be that bright green light, which she had unfortunately seen too many times before.

If she was being honest with herself, she was scared, petrified of what was to come. She should have clamped down on the words she wanted to say to him and kept them safely behind her closed lips. She should have allowed him to believe she was totally and completely enamoured with him. But he infuriated her, so much so that she had barely restrained herself from punching him in the nose, much like she had with Draco Malfoy. The satisfaction would have been so great, she would have had such a good laugh after with Harry and Ron. They'd look at her like she'd lost her marbles but praise her on her ability to throw a good punch. Oh, how she missed them. If only they could have joined her. But she couldn't think of them right now, she had books to study.

Coming to stand in front of the bookshop, the puffy skirt of her floral dress flittered slightly in the wind. Pushing open the door with one hand, the other holding down the back of her dress so it didn't expose her knickers, she stepped into the store, the bell ringing above her head to signify her entrance.

The smell of books brought a smile to her face. This is what she loved, this was something she could relate to in this time and her time. This was her home away from home. Her little white heels clicked all the way to the back at the shop, eventually coming to a halt as she reached the counter.

A tall, thin man with whispery grey hair fumbled with a stack of books behind the wooden counter. His green eyes hidden behind thick lenses in an equally thick, black glasses frame. It seemed as though he was sorting the books into different categories and then sorting them into alphabetical order. He was so engrossed in his work that he still hadn't noticed her presence after 5 minutes. As much as she herself hated being distracted from her important work, she eventually had to give a soft "ahem", detesting how it made her sound slightly like that dreadful woman, Umbridge.

Jumping slightly and dropping a book or two from the neat pile at the end of the counter, his wrinkled face looked up at her, peering over the thick rims of his glasses, a smile quickly forming on his face as he recognised her.

"Miss Burke, I should have expected you. How are you my dear?" Without waiting for a response, he simply plodded on with his greeting, "You'll be pleased to know the new books are here for your enjoyment. You have the first pick. Do you have a particular subject in mind?"

"I'm very well this morning thank you, Mr Blanch. I hope the same is true for yourself. It's such a beautiful day outside, I think I might purchase a few of your books and go for a picnic. Terribly mundane I know, however I've never been one for parties. A good book and comfy setting will do me just fine. Would you mind if I look through the newer ones, I'm not entirely sure on what exactly I'm looking for just yet. I'm hoping to find something that catches my interest from the get go." She said, as she bent down to pick up the books that had fallen, one of them already meeting her requirements.

"How many times must I ask you to call me Trevor, Miss Burke?" he said, gratefully taking the one book she handed to him, the other already opened in her other hand as her eyes took in as much information as possible in the limited time she had. She didn't want a lot of people catching her reading this type of book. She had a wholesome image to uphold to the general population.

"And how many times must I ask you to call me Hermione, Trevor?" she retorted with a small grin gracing her full, pink lips. "I think I'll take this one please. Do you have any others back there?" She took a quick peek behind the frail looking man, finding no other texts which would give details about the Dark Arts.

"' _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ '?", he asked, his kind voice tinted with slight trepidation at her choice. She could understand the change in him, she would react the same way if she was in his position. Feeling suitably shamed, she nodded her head, trying to keep it up and remain positive. Trevor really was a lovely man and she had, had many intriguing conversations with him ever since she had stepped into the wonderful bookshop. She had grown fond of him and he admired the young woman in return. She was unlike any others in this time. She was intelligent and stubborn, never letting any absurdly biased views influence her own. She was headstrong and constantly yearned to learn. She was an anomaly and he hoped he would see many other young women follow in her footsteps.

"Very well then Hermione. I can't say I had expected this book to be your choice, but I suppose there's only so much you can read of the same subjects without getting bored", she smiled. He was trying to understand, he was trying not to judge and it made her feel good. He really was a nice man. "I don't have other books fitting this category in stock at the moment, but if you're looking for more information on this subject, you can always go to Borgin and Burkes. Although, I suppose you already know that considering your name, ay? Just be careful down Knockturn Alley Hermione. You'll only find the worst sort of witches and wizards down there." His usually shining eyes were now filled with worry.

She doubted Knockturn Alley could be worse than what it was like in her time and she was unsure anything could surprise her after so much time spent defending herself, but she thanked him for the warning regardless. She paid for her book with a single galleon, accepting the plastic bag he gave her with a smile and wished him a lovely weekend, expressing her plans to visit him again during the week, before making her way to the front door.

Stepping outside, she saw the street had become much busier in the 30 minutes she had been speaking with Trevor. Families were out and about, groups of friends meeting up for a shopping day and the odd witch or wizard on their own.

Moving away from the door to allow the Saturday shoppers space to get inside, she made her way in the direction of Knockturn Alley. Her plastic bag was held in her left hand, with her right hand keeping a slight hold on the handle of her wand.

She was confident she would be able to defeat anyone that attacked her, but she wasn't so arrogant to think she could do so without being remotely prepared first. She surveyed the beginning of the alley before making her way down the stone steps. Hermione was on high alert now, she didn't know the ins and outs of this area. She definitely didn't make a habit of coming down to this alley in her own time and she didn't plan to start doing so in this one either.

It was dark and she was nervous. She didn't really know what to expect down here. She could see lights coming from the signs above the shop doors but those weren't enough to illuminate the ground. Despite the sunny summer day, it was cold in this part of town. Goosebumps had risen on her uncovered arms and legs.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of her neck stood up on end. _Constant vigilance_ she thought as she cast a glance behind her. She was in trouble and she needed to get out of there fast. She could come back to Knockturn Alley another day, hopefully accompanied by someone else. She's need to make a seedy friend that would fit in with this area she supposed. She tried to take a step back but a thin, yet strong hand took hold of her left wrist, yanking her forwards so she was pressed up against a skinny man.

He wasn't alone. His two friends were grinning behind him, showing off their rotting yellow teeth, finding her predicament hilarious. Shame she didn't share their sense of humour.

"Where do you think you're going sweetheart?", he asked in what she assumed was his attempt at a seductive voice. To her ears, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Her lack of response aggravated him, causing the pressure of his fingers to dig deeper into her skin, his little and ring fingers pressing against the end of her scar. Bellatrix had carved it into her skin with a cursed dagger, making it so it wouldn't heal properly. It hurt every time someone touched it, and this time was no different.

"Are you too good to speak to me, is that it? I think we'll be the judge on how _good_ you are, ay lads?" He sniggered, bringing his other hand to her right leg, letting it rise and go under the dress. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men who were staring at her with heat in their eyes, a dirty smirk on his uneven, cracked lips. She tried to get away from him, pulling her arm away from him with as much strength as she had, but his grip didn't budge. She whipped out her wand, bringing it up to her assailants neck. She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he laughed at her actions.

"Oh lookie here boys, we've got a feisty one. She'll definitely be a good one", before she could cast a spell to stop the laughter from leaving his lips, her wand was taken from her from one of the other men. She watched it land in his grimy palm, and she was infuriated with both herself and these sorry excuses for men.

She was about to show them why they shouldn't have chosen her as their victim. Bringing up her knee, she stuck the wizard who held her right in the balls, hard. He gurgled as the laughter caught in his throat and his eyes bulged. He instinctively let go of her wrist and withdrew his hand from under her dress to cradle his balls in an attempt to ease the pain. She wasn't nearly done with him though, as he bent over, trying to minimise the ache in between his legs, she brought her knee up again, this time striking him the nose. Like she had with William Pettigrew, she watched as this man fell to the ground in a heap.

Next, she focused her attention on the filthy man who held her wand tightly in his grasp. He had his wand aimed at her, a spell on the tip of tongue. She didn't give him a chance, her hand extending as she performed a wandless bat bogey hex, which she was sure Ginny would have been especially proud of, followed by a quick "accio", her wand easily finding her hand.

She turned her attention to her next victim, however before she could even think of a spell, he was falling to the ground, both hands clutching at his throat. It was as if something was restricting his airway, an invisible object wrapping around his neck, preventing him from breathing, killing him.

Her eyes were wide as she realised all three of them were under different spells. The one she had cast the bat bogey hex on was now unconscious, bleeding from his nose, eyes and ears. His chest had stopped moving, growing paler with each passing second, as if all his blood was leaving him.

The man she had attacked physically had tears running down his face. Each of his bones were breaking one by one, starting with his left wrist. Moving down to each of his fingers, his ribs, his hips, his legs. The cracking was awful to hear but she couldn't tear her eyes away. He was begging her for mercy with his eyes, he thought _she_ was doing this to him.

Finally, he grew still, unmoving, dead. All of them were.

"I have to admit Miss Burke, I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd be able to get out of that one on your own. Maybe you were right when you said you didn't need, what was it?, to rely on the capabilities of another? Wandless magic doesn't come so easily to some, just where did you learn it?", startled she wasn't alone, she looked up and saw four figures coming out of the shadows.

She knew it was him without even seeing his face. His voice was forever stuck in her memory, haunting her every day and night. He had set this up, he needed to see what she was made of.

"I'm a competent witch, I am more than capable of looking after myself Mr Riddle. Although, I must say, killing these men seems a tad bit dramatic, don't you think?" She asked, one arm spreading out gesturing to the three men laying haphazardly on the ground, the other hand resting on her hip, while her right eyebrow had risen at her question. She had to appear unaffected by what had just happened. She had to pretend it hadn't phased her and she had seen it all before.

"Perhaps, but I can't say I'm sorry. They should've had learnt to keep their hands to themselves. Everyone knows not to touch that which does not belong to them", he responded in a light tone with amusement once again shining in his eyes. Why was he _always_ laughing at her? Surely she wasn't that funny and just what did he mean when he said they shouldn't touch what doesn't belong to them? She belonged to nobody!

"Malfoy, Avery, Lestrange" he called in a firm tone, a little louder than when he had spoken to her, "take care of the mess." They moved in sync straight away, needing no more direction on what to do. They must have got rid of bodies on more than one occasion then, she thought dispassionately, her eyebrows furrowed.

She didn't notice Riddle had bent down until he had suddenly appeared directly in front of her face once again. He was staring at her with determination in his eyes and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She didn't know where this change had come from until she took a peek towards her feet.

The book she had bought from Flourish and Blotts had ripped through her plastic bag in her struggle to escape her attacker. He was holding her ' _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ' book out to her. She lifted her head up faster than she thought possible, and stared at his eyes. She wasn't ready for this. She once again found herself in a predicament that she was in no way prepared for, with another mistake surely ready to push through her careful charade.

"You dropped this, Miss Burke. Would you like to join me for brunch?" A terrifying, yet attractive smile graced his handsome face. The words to refuse his invitation were stuck in her throat, her innocent eyes were wide as she tried to evaluate the unknown emotion in his own. Her mouth kept opening and closing but before she could say anything, he put her arm through the crook of his elbow and led her back into Diagon Alley, leaving three of his followers to clean up the mess they had made.

Still clutching her book in his hand and continuing on as if nothing had happened, he opened his mouth and said, "So Hermione, what would you like to eat?"

* * *

 **Once again, thank you so much for reading and for all of your amazing reviews!**

 **I promise I'll try and make the chapters longer and I'll reply to all the reviews that I think need a reply in the next chapter (I'm on my phone at the moment and it's proving to be a bit of a struggle).**

 **As usual, I hope to update again soon. I've been writing chapters in between my breaks at work but it's been difficult!**

 **Please continue letting me know what you think! I really do love hearing from you :)**


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